Xenophon Two, Albus and Tom
by BovineHero
Summary: The second part of Xenophon, set ten years after Xenophon; a vampire epic Harry Potter Fanfic. This covers his time when he is discovered "alive" by Albus, then Tom  Voldemort  after. Please read the first one first. THANKS!
1. Chapter 1

I OWN NOTHING, except from the character of Xenophon

The **second part** of the story of Xenophon, a vampire, and his involvement in the story of Harry Potter, from his time at Hogwarts through the two uprisings of Voldemort, and his life.

Look at my profile for the first part.

Thanks!

* * *

><p>It had to be here.<p>

For too long now Albus had been searching for answers. Ever since Tom's sudden application at the school everything had seemed as if it was falling into disaster. After the unexplained disappearance of Xenophon, things had begun to get stranger and stranger. First, Tom had become Head Boy, despite the question over his aptitude for learning, secondly he had applied for Merrythought's position and lastly Grindelwald had rudely re-entered into Albus' life, dangerous to the point where he had to be killed. It all seemed to trace back to the Black Forest, the place where Avery had eventually confessed to being the place where the four boys had spent their Christmas holiday. The place where Xenophon was last seen.

Any sign, Albus begged the forest, give me any sign, a finger bone, a proudly worn Slytherin pin, anything.

But the forest was big, and with little to go on but the mutterings about a river before Avery had run away with fear, Albus could be in here all summer. So far he had traced the banks of three river lengths, with only a few sightings of unicorns, and now, on his fourth, he was getting thoroughly tired.

Albus slipped a hand into his robes and pulled out the wand he still didn't care to use. Long and dark brown, it had the amateurish appearance of an ordinary twig, but in truth it was far more than that. Arguably the most powerful wand on the planet, the Elder Wand was indecipherable; Albus doubted that even Ollivander could tell what was within it. There was something about it that made Albus wary; though he did not like to admit it, he was afraid of the power it wielded.

Despite these things now seemed the best time to use it. Using a finding charm and calling out the name of Xenophon Albus waited as the wand leapt into a life of its own. With a shower of gold sparks it flicked its way downstream. The Headmaster of Hogwarts sighed. At least it could be reliable. He followed its path, holding out a stream of light as he walked further into the depths of the trees.

A mile or so down the path the wand twisted northwards, then pulled a little farther left, cut back on itself, spun in a tight circle, then altogether gave up and fell quiet. Albus looked down at it, confused. He spoke the words again, but the wand only shivered.

"Useless thing," he cursed, and dug around for his old one.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," spoke an eerie, soft voice behind him. Albus spun around, wand out, and found himself facing with a vampire, who leant against a tree, arms crossed.

"Merlin's owl!" he cried, pointing his (old) wand at the vampire's heart.

The pale, gaunt creature smiled. "Indeed, Archimedes I believe he was called, though quite why I am unsure."

"You killed him, didn't you?"

The vampire's grin widened. "I have killed a great many people in my lifetime, wizard, and rarely do I remember the name of them."

"Eleven years ago, Xenophon Flint."

As soon as the words had been spoken the vampire stopped smiling. His body fell from its non-chalant, lacklustre pose and his red eyes widened.

"Xenophon Flint?" he said slowly, now completely ignoring the wand and its dangers.

Albus nodded. Obviously the vampire knew something. His chest rose and fell as he thought, eyes flickering from Albus' face to the ground, to nowhere in particular as he tried to decide what to do.

"Xenophon Flint," he whispered.

"You recognise the name," Albus said in a quiet voice.

The vampire said nothing, he did not even shrug. He tried to look for a way out, the muscles in his eyes working wildly overtime.

"Do you know where he is?" Albus hoped that at least the vampire could show him Xenophon's grave. It might not give him any information, but at least it could give him answers, not to mention peace of mind.

There was a longer pause this time, as the vampire became more and more nervous. He seemed to know the wand was there now, and his eyes locked onto it like eagle's eyes. They still moved around though, the ground, the trees, over Albus' shoulder. Then quite suddenly they stopped. They peered over at something far away, in the distance behind Albus, somewhere beyond. They stared, drawing in the sight and a slow smile began to appear on the vampire's face.

"Bodies are left to rot around here," he said, "I could not be sure. But if you really want to know it might be best to travel a few hundred miles upstream the way you came. If you go there you may find something more of interest than a couple of old, muggy vampires."

"Did you just say a couple?" Albus gasped as the vampire's grin became a chuckle. The eyes grew huge as Albus turned to meet as a solid fist came into contact with the side of his skull, complete with a second pair of gleaming red irises.

"Fool of a wizard," the first vampire grinned, and he leapt forwards.

Albus was lifted high off his feet with the force of the punch. His muscles screamed as his spine bent backwards and his wand was thrown right out of his hand. The second vampire's leap ended, but not onto Albus himself. He landed on his feet a metre away, and with a defined _crack_ snapped his wand clean in half where it had come to rest.

"Seriously foolish," he chuckled, and looked over to where the fist had come from. "Want first bite?"

"Be my guest," the second vampire answered, in a voice Albus swore he had heard before.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Bite

I did not look at the man as Sanguini crushed his wand into the dust. For too long I had struggled in finding my humanity amongst the life I now lived, and it had cost me dear. I knew that if I did not feed, I would die, and loose my chance of redemption. I knew that if I did not look after myself, Sanguini would not become my caretaker. "Each vampire for himself," he said, "That is the way it has always been, that's the way it always will be."

"First bite?" he proffered, gesturing down at the victim.

I shook my head, "Be my guest."

He smiled, and looked again at the man, "He is big enough for the both of us, I am sure."

I shrugged, turning my back even further. The one thing I hated was seeing the face of my victim, the look of horror before I took their life.

Sanguini laughed at my attitude, and neared the man. I sighed at my lack of bravery and prepared to wait as he drank his fill. There was a scuffle, the usual last struggles as the man fought vehemently, a squeal of annoyance, one of fear then-

BANG!

Sanguini's body, and not the wizard's, flew past me and slammed into a tree. I began to turn, my body preparing for self-defence when a magical fist of pure energy got its own back and knocked me to the ground. I grunted, black hair falling across my face as the wizard strode past me towards Sanguini, a _second_ wand out, dark blue robes barely marked. Completely ignoring me he began an incantation, one I vaguely remembered causing a whole lot of pain.

Launching myself with a cry of rage, I pushed off from the ground, aiming for where the wizard would step next, but instead was hit full force by the power of the curse.

"-io," the wizard finished speaking, as pain ripped fully across my back. I fell to the forest floor, my lungs fit to burst, my entire being shaken as excruciating _pain_ filled me from head to toe. The Cruciatus Curse, I remembered the name, the curse that gives unimaginable pain, and even works on vampires.

"Sons of Hell!" I cried, flipping right over, eyes screwed shut.

There was a long ocean of silence as the pain ebbed from my back and the world swam back to reality.

"_Xenophon_?" came a haunted, quaking gasp.

I opened my eyes, and found myself facing a man I knew very well. Small blue eyes from behind half-moon glasses above a long, white beard stared back at me in horror.

"_Dumbledore_?" I whispered, unbelieving.

Silence.

"Get back behind me, kid," Sanguini yelled suddenly, sweeping me back with one hand, "You might know him from a past life but your nothing to him but dead now!"

I tumbled backwards, but kept my eyes on his, unbelieving that of all places he would be here.

"Get away now," Sanguini shouted, standing up to his full height, "Get away from this place and we will grant you your life."

But the shock of seeing me alive, not dead as he had so obviously suspected like the rest of the world, had shaken Dumbledore to his boots. He stood stock still, wand pointing uselessly at the ground, body frozen.

"Xenophon . . ." he murmured.

"Just go," I muttered back, knowing it was for the best, "You've seen me, just go."

"Yes," Sanguini eagerly nodded, taking a step forwards, "Yes, you have satisfied yourself of his whereabouts, now you can go."

Dumbledore bit his lip, unsure.

"Xenophon . . ." I looked away, hating the way it was full of sadness, full of shame, full of such overwhelming sorrow. "Xenophon."

"Leave us ALONE!" Sanguini suddenly boomed, throwing his arm forward. But Dumbledore was not having it.

"No," he suddenly cried, twisting in a tight circle and whipping up his wand, "No, I am not leaving without him."

I looked up, confused. Without me? What on earth did Dumbledore think I was?

Sanguini roared at the audacity of the suggestion. "A vampire exists alone," he yelled, "Always has done, always will."

"He comes with me!" Dumbledore bellowed, slashing down with his wand. It emitted a great orange light, a blade that flew towards Sanguini and cut his words off midair.

I was, of course, standing up now, looking from one to the other, unsure who to help, what to do. I knew Sanguini wouldn't help me in this occasion, but neither did I want to go with Dumbledore. In fact, it was the complete opposite to what I wanted. I looked down, and found a pebble on the ground. And just as Sanguini prepared for another attack I threw the stone at Dumbledore's head with all my strength.

Without another seconds thought I turned tail and I ran, before Dumbledore could notice my absence, before the stone hit his forehead, before Sanguini would surely be killed. I ran as fast as my supernatural speed would let me, hoping that I had given my maker a chance, despite the fact that he had taught me to look after myself and never him. I zoomed past a huge oak, my legs flaying madly, then shockingly tripped and fell right over.

"Shoot," I cursed myself and tried to stand.

But I couldn't. Just as I attempted to something invisible but unholy strong grabbed my body and pulled it tight. I screamed in a mixture of pain and shock as my arms, entirely out of my control were ripped from the ground and forced together high up my back. I kicked hard on the ground but a great weight pressed down on me, one that fastened some unknown force around my ankles, and then I was being dragged _backwards_, back over the roots and leaves, back past the numerous trees that were around, back through the branches that scratched my face but left no mark due to my impervious skin.

"NO!" came a great cry as my body zoomed straight back to where I had started – and further. I saw Sanguini leap up from where he had been lying ten metres away, just as my legs collided with something solid and I buckled between the force of the impact and the weight upon me. I screamed and attempted to lash out with my fangs as another BANG exploded across the wood and Sanguini was cursed back even further. Then the wand was back in my vision, pointing at me, and the bonds got tighter, the other hand grabbed the back of my neck and before I knew it I was being forced away from my home, away from the forest, apparating with the man I used to trust, into something unknown.

"Sanguini!" I cried, but to no avail. The last of the branches vanished into blackness as we swerve upwards and away.

Bang.

I was flung halfway across a room, but with my arms useless and nothing to fight against magic I could not stop myself from slamming into a hard panelled wall. I grunted in pain and fell to the side, my veins crying out to be released.

Footsteps.

They echoed nearer, coming across the floor space where I had just slid, grey boots with dark blue robes fluttering about them.

Movement.

At his side was the wand that clearly was controlling these forces. I stared at it with malice as he stopped before me, then bent down and looked straight into my eyes with a very curious expression.

"Xenophon?" he whispered, asking again.

"Not as you would like," I hissed, throwing myself upright again, and purposefully pulling back my lips. My white fangs hung in the evening light; cold, deathly and dangerous.

Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "No, not like that anyway."

"Then good," I shouted, struggling against the chainless bonds. "You always enjoyed disappointments."

He shook his head, "This certainly is a disappointment, but I am not enjoying it."

"Then you should have just left me and not had to suffer," I tried to rip my legs apart, "Then we would both be happy."

Dumbledore frowned, and then stood, "No I could never be happy just knowing that you were there. I came looking for you specifically, and five minutes is not long enough to satisfy my days of searching."

"Well you should get a better hobby," I roared. Using my knees that were stupidly unaffected I leapt up, half in hope that I would at least distract him. But he only had to wave his stupid wand and I came crashing down again.

"I don't know how," he said sadly, standing up, "But somehow this happened to you." He flicked his wand and I was unceremoniously lifted to my feet. I dangled there, still spitting in protest against my mistreatment. "You have been missing for eleven years and since then many things have happened, that I guess you do not know about. But since," he glared at me, "Since you were friends, or still are, with _him_, then I guess you can be useful to me."

He pulled back his wand and I flew with it. With a great look of anger on his face he forced me around in a circle, then backwards. I stumbled without dignity and without pity, until I properly tripped over something and I was allowed to fall back, right into a throne-like chair. A flick of the wand wrenched my arms apart and held them out to either side of me as I struggled to allow him to make me sit. I leant forwards, throwing as many curses as I could, anger flowing from every pore.

"You do disappoint me, Xenophon," he sighed, and gave the wand a final flick. My arms slammed down onto the arm rests, my back slammed against the back of the chair, my head banged against the wood. A pained look fell across his face as he stepped forwards, wand still out. He looked away for a moment, fumbling with something at the side of the chair, and then stood up again. "You disappoint me to the extent where it pains me."

"And you haven't changed at all," I spit back. Then he acted.

I ground my teeth together as he gave the wand one final twist. Silver chains as light and fine as thread, but ones which glowed with the light of a thousand powerful, unbreakable enchantments, leapt up from around the chair. They lashed around my arms, from my elbows to wrists, around my ankles, my knees and finally across my shoulders, pinning me back against the entire structure. Only then did Dumbledore cease to point the wand at me. He stepped back with a sigh, tiredness in every move.

For a while he simply looked at me, and I looked back at him. I knew that there was no way I was going to be able to break out of this now, especially with the extra power the wand seemed to give him. My hands curled into fists and my tongue scraped across one of my fangs, aching for the chance to bite his neck.

"I found you alive," he finally said, scraping back his hair, "And have kept you alive, even though you wanted me dead. In these cases the Ministry advices on killing the vampire that has caused the damage, but I know that will get me nowhere."

I said nought. I kept my nerve and focused on that and that alone. I stared at him with my brilliant red eyes, entirely unsure with what he wanted from me, and indeed, if his plans were much different from Tom's. I focused on his blue eyes and tried to capture them in with my gaze, enticing and tempting him to unbind me, trying to tell him that all would be okay.

"Despite my years," Dumbledore said, a small smile growing at the corner of his lips, "The lengthy time that they are, I have never seen a vampire up close, and that," his smile widened into a grin, and then he chuckled, "For its own part, is not a disappointment."

He looked me up and down with a longing pang of sympathy, then turned and walked out of the room, leaving me alone in the room with only the panelled walls to look at.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Conversation

I tried.

Of course I did. It was no use not trying, that would have meant I had admitted defeat. I strained my body in various ways, first pouring my energy into my ankles and attempting to wrench them up, then enticing my stomach muscles to lift off the chair and, if possible, rip some of the chains with them. I reasoned that the chair, since made out of wood, should be easily broken, and attempted to bang it against the wall, but as it turned out it was both magically charmed as well as bolted to the floor, which did not help. In the end I had to give up, the magic was too powerful. I leant back, slumped as much as I could and waited.

It was hours until he returned. I knew he had returned because of his amused chuckle at my posture – head lolling to one side, eyes half closed, mouth closed with one fang poking over the edge of my bottom lip.

"_That_ is more what I remember."

I let a growl emanate from my throat, but did not move. In fact my eyelids fell a little more.

Taken aback by it Dumbledore was silent for a brief moment, and then walked out of the room. I was confused, but did not have the heart to look up. I pressed my fang deeper into my lip and felt the glorious beauty as it split open skin and a droplet of blood collected there, and began to trickle slowly down my chin. I waited until I was sure Dumbledore was back and watching, and then snaked out my tongue and swept up my own life juice to his horror or his amusement.

He did not gasp or chuckle. Instead as my own joy turned into a small smile and I moved my eyes to look at him I saw him standing there without any expression, only joylessness. In his hands he held a bound notebook. He waited patiently until he had my full attention, then he sat backwards into his own high-backed throne-like dining chair and placed the notebook on his lap. His right hand rested on the arm of the chair, where a jar of black ink and a swan feather quill lay.

But no words came from his lips. Instead he moved, back straight, shoulders down, hands pleasantly clasped on his knee. I watched him with all the condemnation I could muster. There was no way I was going to give in.

He raised a single eyebrow. I sighed and adjusted my seating, moving back up so that the chain over my shoulders was not riding up and almost touching my neck, straightening my neck so that I could gaze directly into his eyes, uncurling my fists so that I could clasp the ends of the armrests like any proper gentleman.

Once I sat much like he sat, he nodded in approval, and took out his wand. I seethed like a bear but he ignored me as he twisted it, summoning the chains from my shoulders to loosen a little, then slip down, then lengthen so that they covered much of my upper arms and chest.

"Good," he said, pocketing back the implement once they had tightened. "Now we can speak to one another like gentlemen."

"'Gentlemen?'" I asked in a high, incredulous voice. I scoffed, "What type of gentleman chains the other to a _chair_?"

"You would kill me if it was not so."

I paused, rather annoyed. Of course I would, he was right.

Dumbledore liked my silence. "I use the term loosely of course," he said, "Because no gentleman in his right mind kills for a living."

"I have to," I retorted, "I have to kill. I need blood to survive. It comes with the job description, being a vampire."

"Ah, you _need_ blood," Dumbledore flicked up a finger, "You do not _need_ to kill. Those two things are very separate indeed."

"The amount of blood needed to sustain one for a week . . ." I began.

"Do you honestly need to kill every time you drink, Xenophon? Could you honestly say you need an entire body's worth each go? Could not you take a little from one, then a little from another, and leave all alive?"

"Have you ever tried?" I snarled. I strained to lean forwards, but the only thing that was free was my head, so that butted out in his direction, "Have you ever attempted to stop? When the blood flows through you it's like a release. A release from the bloody hell we are damned to live in, until we have the courage to stop altogether and die. Because once you begin it is so hard, the rich, succulent flavours wash down your throat, the juices purify your body, set every nerve tingling, every dead piece of skin alight as you are filled with the glories, the beauties, the only pure thing that makes this life even the tiniest bit more bearable." I slumped back down, my eyes still on his, which were wide and wet with tears behind his glasses.

"When I drink it makes me feel alive again," I continued quietly. "I feel as if I never died, as if my heart still has the capability of beating. Any vampire given one drop of blood will immediately ask for more. It is our way of life, our way of coping with death. And once you have begun that journey into taking another's life you know you will not be able to stop, until you have felt the last heart beat die, and the last breath has faded from the body."

I fell silent. The professor across from me shook, his clasped hands were so tight that the veins popped to the surface of the skin and his knuckles were rigid. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but no words came out, only a faint disconnected sound.

He shut it again and swallowed. He shook as he bent down to the side of his chair where a decanter and a glass stood. Water split as he poured, but soon he had rinsed and moistened his mouth and was able to speak.

"So what happens if you stop?" he asked in a quiet voice.

I paused, unsure as how to explain, or if to explain. I had never experienced complete weakening myself, but had heard what happens. The longest I had ever gone without blood was two weeks, and that had been in my early years.

"That depends on the vampire," I replied.

"What about you?"

I shook my head, "I have never fully . . ." I stopped, realising he could use this knowledge to his own advantage. "No, I cannot tell you."

"Fine," Dumbledore took another long draught of water and placed his hands back on his lap. "Then tell me about Tom."

The word hit me like a stake to the chest. "Excuse me?" I hissed, incredulous.

Dumbledore smiled, obviously quite satisfied with my reaction.

"That was the reason I wanted to find you," he said. "Things have happened in the last few years that have been . . . unexpected. Tom disappeared about seven years ago now-"

"Tom disappeared?" I asked, my mind going mad. If he had disappeared all but from the world that meant his 'plan' was becoming defined. It meant that he was beginning to perfect his ideas for the world and, most likely, that the number of his Horcruxes had risen . . .

Dumbledore saw my thoughts, then nodded, "Yes . . . shortly after he applied for Professor Merrythought's post."

"What did he say?" I interrupted, "What did he say about me?"

"You mean when they returned?" I nodded, and Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply, but then an idea came to him, and he smiled.

"You tell me about what Tom is doing right now, and I will tell you what their excuses were."

I scowled, "That is unfair."

"No, I see it as perfectly fair," Dumbledore said, "I tell you what you desire most, and you tell me what I need, and we will be even."

"What I desire most is to get away from you," I growled.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, "A little better than wanting to drink my blood, I'll admit, but nevertheless still disappointing."

I licked my lips moist, "We all have our disappointments."

He stared at me, and for the first time I saw real anger within him. "So that is it?" he asked, "That is your answer after all of this time."

"I am what I am," I answered him; "It will take a long time to tame me."

"I have the entire summer," Dumbledore stood, casting his notebook to one side, "So I hope you enjoy long waits."

"As I do you," I grinned, "As I do you."

At my final words his eyebrows raised, and genuine sadness could be seen in his heart. Maybe he had been expecting to find something of his lost pupil within me, but I could not conceal what had happened to him. A decade without any one but Sanguini had been hard, it had forced me to become someone I sometimes did not recognise, a man that others would always despise, despite how they might remember me. As the tears began to fall I looked away, not daring to even watch, lest my emotions should come spiralling out in one go.

All out of control.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Drink

If I had been still human I am sure I would suffered from some sort of condition, being chained into a position and unable to move for an extended period of time. Dumbledore was not like the kind professor I had known him to be. Though I recognised a lot of the same determination and strength I had known him to have when at Hogwarts, I saw little of acceptance or niceness that had always made him a likable teacher. Now, underneath his house, under his control, I was seeing a different side to him, a darkness that was perhaps only visible now that I was no longer human.

Things began, to be positive, a little softly. Two days after our conversation Dumbledore came in to the room where he was keeping me, and offered me a trade. He said he would release me as long as I told him everything I suspected Tom might be doing. He went into elaborate details on what specific information he wanted, and offered for me to only reveal parts of what I knew. He tried to bargain with me, he swore that once I was taken back to the Black Forest he would never try to come and find me again, but I knew that was highly unlikely. I did not trust him enough to give him any information about Tom, even the little that I knew. It was difficult to believe that I had not seen him for eleven years, ever since he had persuaded Sanguini to make me a vampire. If he had disappeared from wizarding society, it meant something was very wrong, or very good indeed, I could not be sure.

Eventually I refused to even talk to Dumbledore; my mind was made up to keep up an outward appearance that was adamant and controlled. Despite the fact that I could not move from where I was, it was easy to imagine how I would escape, how dramatic my flight would be. I would break the chains, perhaps drain Dumbledore of his blood, I hadn't decided yet, then I would take to the skies and use the one vampire power I happened to excel at; flying. My mind ran wild as I soared through metaphorical skies, my hair whipped back, my robes, torn as they were, billowing out in dark black, terrifying folds, like wings of a demon. And then I would land and draw my sabre, ready to cut down any villains that might seek to fight me. And I would always win.

As the days dragged on I noticed that I was losing interest in what Dumbledore had to say. Twice he came in and offered to loosen my bonds if I gave him even a hint of news about Tom. Once he staggered in, tired after some epic long journey, and looked at me with a great amount of pity. He slid out his wand and touched the chains around my knees and upper arms, which came free in a flurry of excitement. I spent a tiring day straining at my arms and ankles, until he came, this time his usual strong self, and with a fluid motion he replaced the chains to how they had been, perhaps even stronger than before. I moaned to myself all night and was unable to get to sleep.

It was about a week and a half into the ordeal when I began to notice my first withdrawal symptoms. I woke up from a bad night, and looked out into the world only to see white brightness. I blinked and rubbed my eyes as best as I could upon my shoulder, but it took even more copious amounts of blinking to get my sight back to how it should be. That day Dumbledore surprised me with a brand new proposal, which concerned something to do with a peacock and the school, but half of which I missed because I began to get headaches.

Definitely during our first conversation I had allured to, or even stupidly mentioned, blood withdrawal, also known as weakening, but it was only half way through the second week when I realised that Dumbledore was using it against me. He had not brought me any blood at all, and I had at first assumed it was because he was disgusted by the thought of it, but as time went on I realised it was deliberate. That day I had a terrible migraine, and it had taken me the entire morning to get rid of the bright light in my eyes. I was about to call out for any type of help when Dumbledore came in, pushed a hand under my chin and lifted my head up to meet his. At once he saw my fragility, the pain inside my head and the anxiety I was under, and he smiled.

"This is your choice," he said, "All you have to do is tell me."

I did nothing, or perhaps I groaned.

A month and it was the time I fainted. Day by day I had been growing weaker, my headaches becoming more and more persistent until now it was continuous. I could barely move, my throat was too dry to even say anything, I was sure my skin hung hollow on my cheeks, making my looks more ghastly than ever. And my eyes – I knew by rumours that they would not be red any longer, but most likely a dead man's lifeless grey. It was a hot afternoon and I felt the air choking me, as if I was nothing more than a petty human being. I now could not see at all, the constant light surrounded me threatened to burn my eyes out, so I kept them closed most of the time, only opening them if I heard, of thought I heard footsteps. Most of the time I thought I heard them.

In the early evening I lost all consciousness. I slipped from reality in what life, or death, I had, and my body hung there unnoticed until Dumbledore returned two days later.

Softly, softly.

I knew if I had been on my own that I would have died. My body was all but lost because of the lack of sustaining minerals that my otherwise immortal body needed to keep it going, in whatever magic held it together. It was lucky that I had not been alone.

My mind was ready to be slain until it reacted as something slivered down my throat. It was only one drop, but the blood was enough to awaken my entire systems. Lungs automatically gasped, my heart galloped a short pace, and even my mouth opened, as my back arched, extending the way to my stomach.

"More," my throat begged, "More," my dead voice cracked. "More."

Six more drops were added.

I cried out in pain as my heart attempted to respond to a live body. It thudded too hard for anything to love, and the rest of me, from my muscles to my eyes felt the disastrous effects. But still my mind screamed.

"More," I pleaded with the pitying god.

And more was given.

And ten minutes later I could open my eyes.

I lay on the wooden laminated floor of the room, free of any chains, but nevertheless shackled down by a huge amount of weariness. My arms were curled at my side, my legs similarly splayed at the bottom, and my head was thrown back, mouth still open. At least my throat was wet enough to talk. I followed the pattern of floor boards away from myself, over to where the blue robes began, then finally up to the face of the man as he sat there, watching me with one hand holding a dropper and the other a goblet.

He smiled, quite strangely relieved.

"Here," he said, putting the goblet on the ground beside me. "Here, drink."

The smell, the powerful aroma of not fresh pig's blood inspired my senses. Not the best by far, but certainly something I needed right now. I swallowed, and willed my hand to move. It quivered, then my arm shook, then suddenly the whole lot jolted and promptly knocked into the goblet, spilling the contents everywhere.

I would have ended up licking the floor had not Dumbledore easily brought out another one, and this time pressed it right into my hand, and then guided it to my mouth.

I sat at the end of a short table that had been placed there since my incarceration. I sat in a brand new set of black robes, hands curled up into fists, pressed against my temples, watching him as he sat opposite me, the instruments laid out before him.

It had become clear to Dumbledore that even after three goblet-fills of pig's blood I was not going to be any use to him unless I drank human blood. So he had helped me to my feet, dressed me in new clothes, and then placed me at the head of the table, although still in the same seat. Then, after a short period of thirteen seconds where he trusted me to behave myself he had left me unbound, until he had returned with a clean goblet and a knife. It had a beautiful golden hilt and a large sapphire set into the pommel. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket he laid that down first, and then placed the goblet, the knife then his wand in a row, the blade and the point towards me.

My body shook. I did not know what was going on inside his head. First of all he had been malicious and conniving, now he was full of pity and wanted so desperately to help me. His hand touched the knife first, then changed to the wand, and went back to the knife. Then he looked up at me.

"Could you control yourself?" he asked.

I could have lied, I honestly could have, despite my weakened state, but for some bizarre reason I decided to be honest.

"I honestly don't know," I whispered hoarsely.

Dumbledore looked at me carefully, and then nodded.

"Then maybe it is best . . . to be safe . . ."

He waited expectantly. I felt tempted to tell him, that no, I would be fine and that he didn't need to worry, but the fact that I was worried was clear.

"I honestly don't know," I stuttered again. Dumbledore sighed, and picked up his wand. He flicked it. The chains lashed themselves, though definitely not as tightly, over my ankles, around my knees and then across my chest, but under my armpits. Instead of chains manacles zoomed into the air and fastened themselves around my wrists.

"As soon as you have finished, they will shorten," Dumbledore said.

I must have resembled a human drug addict the way I looked at him, and nodded, for Dumbledore laughed.

"You never cease to surprise," he said, folding back his sleeve.

Then he put down his wand and picked up the knife. It was heavy in his hands. He laid the blade on the edge of his skin – then broke the surface.

Blood poured, and I was alive. The richest, most exotic you can things of, mixed with the most pungent aromatic smell on the planet, combined with the most intoxicating drug. The blood scent hit me and I burned inside.

"Blood!" I cried, and leapt towards the victim. But this time I could not get free. Something held me back and I strained against the paranoid protector. My body cried out and I struggled even harder, to an extent where I began to feel an edge of loosening. I gave a cry of joy and surged forwards even harder.

Then suddenly the blood was right in front of me, the rich, beautiful, emotional glory was in my hands, and I poured it back down my throat, slavering every last drop. When it ran out my tongue flicked out, licking up every last morsel I could find. Even as the odd force I was unused to began to tug at my arms I went along with it, and cupped the vessel closer to my mouth. I began to bend down, and was dragged into a smooth successful arc, when my hands themselves were wrenched apart and the cup was thrown to the ground, away somewhere in the forgotten void.

I sat there, gasping in joy as life once more returned to me. Dumbledore leaned against the edge of the table, wand pointing at me, summoning even more chains and locking them down harder. I now resembled some sort of metallic Egyptian corpse, though in my case it was necessary, my cells desired more than I had been given, and they begged me to attack the man who stood there, the man who still had the blood scent on his arm.

It took me twenty minutes to fully calm down, but as a precaution Dumbledore kept the chains on. He cleared away his implements, and resumed his seat. He took out the notebook from long before, placed a quill and ink on the table, then leant forwards. He looked at me seriously, his eyes blazing blue, but did not smile.

"Now," he said, clasping his hands over his wand where it still lay, "Now, Xenophon, now are you willing to tell me everything you know about Tom Riddle?"

I stared straight back him, my eyes wide.

I had no idea how to answer.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Eventful

Dumbledore waited, I breathed like a normal human being.

"What do you want?" he suddenly said with a sigh, "What can I do for you so that you will answer?"

I thought about my answer, then smiled as I spoke it. "Let me go."

Then he was smiling, "We both know that is not an option."

"I thought I might as well mention it," I said.

Dumbledore fell silent, and studied me. He was the first person that I knew from my life to see me in ten years, and to be honest, I would not have chosen him. His blue eyes were too inquisitive; he had the potentiality for power and greatness, but refused to succumb to it. He had the ability to be in love, settle down and raise a family, but it was not his way. Instead he was Professor of Transfiguration and secretly investigator into a life that most people had forgotten about, and now keeper of a vampire.

"There is one more month until the end of summer," he continued after a break, "And in that time it would be decent for us to come to an understanding."

"And if I don't give you the information, you seek, if indeed I have it at all," he raised his eyebrows at my words, but then smiled. He knew that I was misleading him. I continued, "In that month, what then do you propose we do? Do you mean to weaken me once more, leave me to die?"

Dumbledore shifted in his chair, "I have thought about that possibility, and before you ask I will not disclose that information, because I hope that you will tell me before that time comes."

"That might not happen."

He agreed, "It might not, however I trust you."

"Then you are a fool," I said, "Because I can never trust you, so long as you keep me here, bound this way."

He steeped his fingers and looked at me genuinely. "Would it help if I undid them?"

"It might," I grinned, "But then you might not live long enough to see the effects."

"Ah, Xenophon," he sighed, shaking his head, "You disappoint me."

I smiled in reply as he stood, then slid his chair under. He gave me one last look of pleading, but knew that today, despite his kindness, he was not going to get anything. So he walked out without another word, and I kept my head once more, but knew, that come tomorrow, I would tell him all. Things had gone too far, and my old weak human heart was overtaking my immortal one. I wanted to be free, and after coming so close to true death everything had failed.

Dumbledore, though he did not know it, had found my weakness and was using it against me. For kindness, despite all its efforts, was not as powerful as forgiveness, and even though he had not said it, I knew that Albus Dumbledore had forgiven my soul for all of its sins.

The next day I sat, my eyes full of pain and sorrow, and I waited as he stripped the chains down to simple manacles across my wrists and ankles. I could move a lot more, but was still as secure and unable to break out as I ever had been. Able to lean forwards I sagged a little, staring at the woodgrain of the table, leaving him to go as slowly as he liked. He must have noticed that my silence was a sign of defeat, because when he took his own chair he said nothing, and then unscrewed the top off the bottle of ink, opened his notebook and dipped the end of quill into the liquid. But he did not put pen to paper, he paused, waiting for me to begin.

My throat was dry and papery. I was unsure if this was the right thing to do, but I knew that my strength had come to an end and that I was under Dumbledore's complete control. I balled my hands into fists, closed my eyes with anger at myself for being so weak-minded, and then spoke.

"Tom will be in Albania," I finally said, then repeated, whispering, "Tom will be in Albania."

There was a scratching of the nib, then a question, "How can you be sure?"

"Because he had a list of places he wanted to visit," I growled, opening my eyes and looking up at him. "Many of them concerned us, unicorns, or other beasts, other places were of interest because of the ancient spells that dwelt there. The Black Forest was just his first stop, I was his first experiment, and when that failed he must have gone onto searching amongst the enchantments, and Albania, by far, had the largest count of them."

"Wait, wait," Dumbledore held up a hand, "_Tom_ is responsible for what happened to you?"

I snorted, "Of all the suspicions you have on him, you have never guessed the possibility of that?"

He had not. "I was told that vampires choose to become what they are."

"Is that why you think me so disgusting?" I asked, and laughed. "I am not surprised. Who would honestly choose this life if they weren't insane or sick-minded?" I sobered and looked at him seriously, "No, Sanguini told me everything. We went to the forest – I was told we were searching for signs of vampire life, not the creatures themselves – Tom went straight for the most likely place to find them, knew I was going to jump in front of him, so knew it was going to attack me, then whilst I lay dying he forced Sanguini to pour some of his own blood in a cup, then fed me."

Dumbledore's eyes grew large, "Tom fed you Sanguini's blood?"

I grimaced, "It does sound macabre." I was glad Dumbledore was intelligent enough to guess that Sanguini was the other vampire from the forest.

"But _how_," Dumbledore leaned forwards, eyebrows creased, "How can he force a vampire to do his will?"

"Because he knows advanced magic," I said, and then I paused, then added in a small voice, "And because of his Horcruxes."

There was a clatter as the ink bottle fell to the floor. Dumbledore had pushed it to the side when he had launched a hand out and gripped the table edge, hard.

"Horcrux?" he whispered in horror, hardly able to contain his shock.

I looked down at his hand, and studied it in an attempt to keep me sane, "Yes. He told Sanguini that if Sanguini did kill him, then Tom would return in a violent bought of revenge and kill not only him, but destroy the whole forest. The forest is everything to Sanguini, it is where he was born, where he matured, where he lives. He would never leave it easily. It really is the only thing he loves."

"But _how_," Dumbledore asked, "How can he even know how to create one?"

I paused, unsure if I should go on. I certainly did not want to drag Slughorn down this hole as well. "Someone told him how to."

"What?" then two seconds later, in a higher tone, "Who?"

"I shall not say," I replied, "For the person did not know what they were doing. Do not ask me, I shall not be their downfall."

Dumbledore considered, wondering if he should continue in this subject, then he decided against it, and picked up his quill again.

"Fine," he said, "What else can you tell me?"

I blinked, "What do you want to know?"

"Why," he asked, "Why is he creating these _things_? Why did he create you?"

"Because he has an obsession with immortality," I answered, "He wants to live forever, to be more powerful and to be feared more than anyone ever has been before."

"Will it work?"

"I honestly don't know, Dumbledore," I stressed, for the first time using his name out loud, "His plans are a little . . . eccentric if you ask me. I know that he doesn't want to be Minister, he doesn't want any responsibility, and he most certainly does not want anyone to pity him. All he does want is for people to speak his name in cold whispers, with terror that he might strike when they do."

Dumbledore laughed, "He wants people to fear the name 'Tom'?"

"No," I shook my head and looked at him steadily in the eye, "He wants people to fear the name Voldemort, and he will stop at nothing until they are."

The name resounded around the room, the one I had heard too many times and uttered once. The name with which I had deliberately left out the title, and spoken it like I would spit out the bones of a mouse, were I Tom's smooth little python.

"This is more dangerous than I had previously thought," Dumbledore murmured.

I shrugged, "Some people are mad." Then I thought of Tom, and looked over to the professor whom I had made truly terrified. "And some are just insane."

He muttered and mumbled something incoherent, then pushed himself completely away from the table. Leaning his elbows on the armrests he raised his hands to his face so that I could only perceive his eyes. For a while he sat there, watching me with a mixture of anxiety and stress, to an extent where I found my own eyes wondering away. Uncertainly I waited until he deemed it necessary to speak again, and busied myself with finding the remainders of my latest meal stuck to my teeth.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: Formality

It got to the point where I was absentmindedly, and in plain obvious view, picking my way over my right upper fang, when Dumbledore came to a decision. He leapt to his feet, slammed his hands on the table, and let out a long-winded sigh. I turned, tongue still snaked around the over-sized canine.

His eyebrows descended in distaste over my posture, but only for a second. He spoke with a determined, powerful voice.

"Despite these things," he said, "Despite the fact that they have not, as yet, given rise to any danger towards our people-"

Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. I coupled it with a spectacular hiss of dislike, which forced me to drop the previous ridiculous posture.

"To any danger," he quickly amended, "Towards_ wizarding_ kind," I looked away in response to the self-obsessed wizard. He paused, most likely trying to figure out if he should include vampires, but for a man who was sitting opposite such a creature who had already tried to kill him, it was not an attractive prospect. "Indeed," he continued, "Despite this fact, I believe that it is of no use to turn a blind eye to them. But, at the same time spreading rumours without sufficient evidence does more harm and good, therefore," he looked down at the table, eyes now huge, "Therefore I must keep these things to myself, lest the danger increases."

There was a pause, in which I waited for a moment, then spoke, "Wonderful, sounds like a very good plan. Meanwhile, now you have satisfied yourself with information, do you mind attending to the matter at hand and sending me back home?" I finished with what I describe as a delightful smile, but that most likely looked like an ugly threatening scowl.

Dumbledore's expression fell, and he stared at me, "What?" he said, for the first time sounding unintelligent.

I repeated myself, slowly, in case I had befuddled his slow human brain.

He stared at me flabbergasted, then shook and bore himself up, proudly. "And what would be the benefits of that? You have been more use to me than any other I have ever met. You knew Tom better than anyone; you have the ability to predict his movements."

"Obviously I do not," I retorted, astounded, "I never predicted his disappearance from society. I always thought he would gather his faithful around him, and then launch a surprise attack from some bizarre place."

Immediately Dumbledore panicked, "_Attack_?" he asked, "He is planning to _attack_?"

I threw my head back against the chair back, tired of his humanity. I let out a curse in fluent _vampirish_ and then replied in English, "I did not say that. I said that that would have been my prediction, of which I was wrong. There is no use in keeping me here, I have said all I can say for now, I have not even begged for you to tell me their excuses when they returned to Hogwarts without me. And besides," I flicked a stray piece of hair back over my forehead, "How on earth would you keep me alive when you have to return to Hogwarts?"

His expression tightened, his eyes narrowed, but I could see there was something in his mind that he was considering.

"I told you before," he said quietly, "That I have considered such matters."

"You also promised that if I told you what I knew, which I did, that you would let me go."

His grip on the table hardened, "If I let you go back you your life then innocent people will die."

"And you will die if you keep feeding me yourself," I cried, exasperated, "I have to drink in order to survive. The only way to deny that nature is to kill me."

I flicked my gaze up to him, red eyes against blue, trying to perceive if he had the ability to destroy me. If he did, he would most certainly not be committing murder. Vampires were considered lesser creatures; many had been "slain" with lesser excuses, and often praised over.

But I knew from the moment that I had uttered the words that Dumbledore would not, and could not, do such a thing. Perhaps it was his pitying nature, or perhaps it was purely the fact that when I had been a student he had had a side of favouritism towards me. And even though I had changed, and may not be the same Xenophon Flint he knew me as, at least he could see a resemblance.

"Do you remember," he said hoarsely, "That time when I kept you behind after my class and told you to be yourself?"

I paused as the age-old memory came to me, a memory that was dim and distant now from my cold starved human world. "You said, 'don't try to be like him,'" I whispered, "You said, 'It doesn't suit you.'"

"I suggested that you should continue with your studies in Care of Magical Creatures, that you should consider it a career option, and perhaps even teach at Hogwarts one day."

"I did want to," I found myself smiling, as the image of my seventeen-year-old self danced across my mind. The same image that I ever more would be captured as, "I wanted to come back and teach. Hogwarts had given me everything, including family."

"Which you never had before, apart from your old aristocratic grandfather."

"Exactly!" I let out a gleeful chuckle, as I remembered my boring grandfather who had been stuck with me to bring up after my parents had died, the same grandfather who would have had to have coped with the news of his last living descendant's premature death . . . The smile altogether faded from my lips. My grandfather had taken me in and cared for me as he would a son. Even though our relationship had never been strong, he still did not deserve the news of my death. I found myself gazing into the eyes of Dumbledore, who had been nodding and grinning as our conversation had gone on, eyes growing brighter – but now dull as he realised just what he had reminded me.

That I had no future like the one I had dreamed. That I had no hope for a normal life. That I was doomed to an existence where everyone feared me and the one thing I desired above all was their blood . . .

I looked away, emotional pain filling me. I knew that across from me Dumbledore was staring in sorrow, his eyes large and watery.

"I am sorry," he murmured, "I am so sorry for what Tom did to you."

I shrugged, wishing I had a free hand to wipe away the imagined tears that sprung up around my eyes, "Things happen," I said in a quiet voice, "Times change, and there is nothing that we can do about it. We must go on, living with what has been, adapting, and trying to live to the best of our ability."

Dumbledore was silent for a while. His breathing was the only sound in the room for I stopped when I finished speaking. A small smile slowly revealed itself on his face and he nodded.

"Very true," he said, "Very true indeed."


End file.
